


Your Voice, My Song

by blueemissary



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Musicians, Anxiety, Bruce Banner Feels, M/M, POV Bruce Banner, Singer Thor, Songwriter Bruce, ThunderScience - Freeform, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 09:01:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13807929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueemissary/pseuds/blueemissary
Summary: Bruce Banner - a hopeful songwriter - is on the verge of giving up when fate brings him Thor.- - -Promptsince i'm a big ol music dork, i have to request this: a musician au -- maybe bruce is a popular songwriter/producer looking for the next big thing, and is totally blown away when he discovers thor at a restaurant one day?





	Your Voice, My Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mad_marquise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_marquise/gifts).



> Okay this went on a little longer then expected but this is such an interesting prompt!  
> I’m gonna throw in that I am by no means an expert on the music industry, so I may or may not have taken a little creative liberty. I _can_ promise that I gave it my best shot!

As the last note falls Bruce begins his half-hearted applause, hands clapping together just a fraction slower than that of the woman on the table behind him. He’s also the first one to stop, choosing to waste no time plucking the pen from his breast pocket and then scratching out the name on the notepad in front of him. The paper rips a little under the pressure, but he’s too caught up in his own frustrations to care.

Bruce is a songwriter. Always has been, despite his father’s insistence that it’s a waste of time. (Insistence that he should give up and _“stop being such a goddamned freak”.)_ Maybe that’s part of why he’s so determined to make something of it. To prove that he can break away from that poisonous influence that had shadowed his childhood and controlled his life. Because with writing it’s Bruce who’s in control, only Bruce. The songs he writes come from his own mind. They’re unique and special to him.

Currently he’s working on a masterpiece, the magnum opus of his career, or at least it will be when he gets a career. The only issue is performing.

Now Bruce _can_ sing. At least fair enough to get him through most songs. But when it comes to creating his own songs it’s not _his_ voice he imagines. No. Bruce has a dream voice. One he’s been searching for, for months now. If asked he wouldn’t know how to describe it. All he knows is he’ll know it when he hears it.

 That’s why he’s here. Sitting front seat at a packed-up, mid-town restaurant eating sub-par food and critiquing their most popular performers in the hopes of getting lucky. Which he isn’t - lucky, that is. The list he’d compiled for potential partners gets shorter with every visit, pen scratching off name after name as they fail to strike a chord with him.

Pen is replaced with fork and he begins to poke moodily at the potatoes on his plate (cold now – that’s what he gets for turning up early to bag a front table for to a performance that ends up starting late anyway). He’s been stalling the bill all night in the hopes that this would be the one but…no dice. It’s time to call it what it is.

A dead end.

The next time he spots the waitress he signals for her to bring him the bill. As he watches her go another figure, moving in the opposite direction, catches his eye. It’s a man - a _god_ Bruce’s subconscious thinks, slightly guilty as his eyes trace the outline of toned muscles pressing against his shirt – with golden blonde hair pulled back into a low bun and warm, electric-blue eyes roving the room. The woman behind him seems to have noticed his entrance too (which is fair considering the towering size of the man) and Bruce hears her make an appreciative noise to the friend sitting next to her.

It surprises Bruce when the man doesn’t head for a table. Instead he steps up onto the small platform at the centre of the room, unloading the bag from his shoulder and draping his coat across the chair next to the microphone. The microphone itself is set up on a stand much too short for him so he takes a moment to fiddle with it until it adjusts to a more comfortable height. Then he leans forward, strong hands wrapping around the mic to bring it to his lips.

“Good evening.” The man waves with one hand almost shyly, juxtaposing the strong sense of confidence in his wide smile. “My name is Thor…and I have been given the honour of performing for you all tonight. So thank you.”

Several people get up to leave, seemingly not interesting in a surprise follow up to the one they had obviously come to see. They block Bruce’s view as they edge past but he can barely find it within himself to be frustrated when the music starts.

God. That voice. Every nerve in Bruce’s body pulses with the bass of Thor’s voice. He becomes paralyzed, fully immersed in the song, words washing over him like liquid gold until he becomes so caught up that he doesn’t realise it’s come to an end until he’s clapping. He hears Thor speak once more.

“I’m afraid we’re running a little late tonight but thank you all for staying.”

And suddenly he’s gone, bag and coat once again thrown over his shoulder as he heads toward the back exit.

Bruce’s mind slams back into his body. Not bothering to be careful, he slaps down a couple of notes to pay his bill, shoulders his bag and jumps to his feet. Many hurried ‘ _excuse me’_ s pass his lips as he weaves through the sea of tables to the front door. Once outside he picks up the pace until he’s sprinting at full tilt to get around the back of the building before it’s too late.

(He’s found the voice, the perfect voice for his song. If he lets this go now, he may never get another chance.)

Fate, luck, whatever you’d call it, they all seem to be on Bruce’s side for once. He finds that Thor hasn’t even made it to the end of the alley when he rounds the corner. Less fortunate is that he’s now so committed to his sprint that he practically crashes into Thor’s chest, only prevented from toppling them both by Thor’s quick reflexes. Bruce stutters out an apology, arms warmed by the lingering grip of those hands as they steady him.

“It’s all right. I’m all right. Are you all right?” Thor looks down at him with a warm concern, stepping back and letting go when Bruce nods his head.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.” Bruce rambles out, quick and flustered as he tries to get his breath back from the run. But he relaxes a little when Thor shakes his head and smiles kindly, brushing off the need for apology. He continues, “I, uh…I just wanted to say to you…I saw you tonight. And I thought you were really great.”

_‘Really great’? Seriously, Banner? You’re standing in front of the owner of the most captivating and downright beautiful voice you’ve ever heard and that’s the best you can do?_

Fortunately, Thor doesn’t seem offended by his lack of imagination. In fact he looks pleased. The corners of his mouth tug upwards, smiling genuinely with his eyes. “Thank you. I’m flattered that you came to tell me in person. I’m not too well known around here.”

_A grave crime_ , Bruce thinks.

“Well.” He scratches the back of his head, mind racing as he tries to think of what he wants to say. “I’m actually kind of a musician myself.”

Thor’s eyes widen a little. “Oh, do you sing here too?” He gestures to the door leading back into the restaurant.

Bruce shakes his head. “Just a songwriter, really. Although I know my way around a fair amount of instruments too.” The corner of his tongue flicks out to wet his now dry lips and he clenches his fists, steeling himself for what he says next. “I’m…actually working on something right now but…I can’t seem to find anyone to sing what I write.” Deep breath. “And after tonight…well, I wondered if you‘d be interested in taking a look?”

Okay. It’s done. He should just turn around and leave now right? There’s no way –

“By all means.”

“Wha- Really? I mean –” Quickly, he shoves his hands into the messenger bag on his hip and begins rummaging around. A moment later his fingers grasp the sheets of paper and roughly thrust them into Thor’s hands. “Here.”

Thor’s eyes skim the pages, growing brighter as he becomes increasingly fascinated with the work in front of him. “This is good!” He looks up at Bruce now, toothy smiling flashing as brightly as his eyes. “Why don’t I give you my number? We can arrange a date to do some work together.” It’s too good to be true.

Bruce should refuse, should not fall prey to such an obvious trap.

“Absolutely,” he says and pulls out his phone.

 …

Chasing after Thor turns out to be the best thing Bruce ever did. Sure, it’s a little awkward at first; Bruce has never been one to make friends, much less get himself a professional partner. Taking the lead on the work is a challenge he has to face, especially since he’s the only one who knows what it should sound like. But for all his apprehension it turns out that Thor is very easy to work with. Every note is on key, every instruction Bruce gives is followed. He offers up his own suggestions, adding that touch of _something_ that had drawn Bruce to him the other night.

Brief, professional days spent working together soon turn into casual invitations for coffee and music. One night comes when they’re playing around with their creativity, sheets of music from old songs scattered across the floor, and Bruce finds himself singing just as loudly and as happily as Thor, regardless of whether he’s on key or not.

It’s not work anymore. Not when he’s with Thor.

They’re comfortable now, with each other and with the song. It’s time to get out there. So Bruce calls up some old contacts that can get them into a studio for a fair price. He does research on which radio shows and producers they could pitch it to. And as the end draws nearer Bruce’s anxiety rears its head again. The voice of his father taunts him, making him doubt, prompting him to turn back before he can be rejected.

“How do we know they’ll even like it?” he says to Thor, one week before their slot at the studio.

“They will.” He’s so sure, so calm. Everything Bruce isn’t.

“But how do we _know_?”

The tremors of worry stop instantly when Thor places his hands on Bruce’s shoulders. His gaze contemplating. Thoughtful. “I have an idea.”

…

The restaurant hasn’t changed. Not that Bruce should have expected it to have in just a few months.

Only it feels like longer, like a lifetime has passed since he’d barrelled out the doors and into the arms of the one who is now the single most important person his life (a fact that he can deny no longer as the casual dates grow longer and more intimate).

From his place on the platform he can see the table he’d once sat at, now pushed up against another one to accommodate the larger group that have taken his place. In fact the restaurant seems fuller than it’s ever been. He’s never been able to face a crowd so large before. In fact, he’s still not quite sure he can do it now. But then he senses Thor move to stand besides him, not quite touching but close enough to feel the heat that radiates from him. “Are you ready?”

It’s a simple question. Almost rhetorical because they’re here now. What other answer can he give but yes? He glances up at Thor so quickly that he doesn’t even turn his head.

What he sees is an earnest question. It’s not rhetorical. If Bruce were to answer negatively there is no doubt that Thor would pack it up there, apologising profoundly, insisting that they’ll be able to come back, in time, when they’re ready. When Bruce is ready. Because he cares. He is there for support, for fun, not for fame. For Bruce.

Bruce adjust his grip on his guitar (nothing flashy, they’d decided) and nods firmly.

The second his fingers pluck the first chord something clicks in Bruce. He focuses on the music, feels each vibration in the air as the strings twang. When Thor begins to sing, he forgets where he is, too caught up in the sound of that rich voice. His fingers move more on memory than actual focus and he finds himself smiling, mouthing the words. When the chorus comes he’s shocked by the sound of his own voice and he nearly fumbles, looking at Thor for reassurance. Thor is nodding to the beat and when Bruce turns their eyes lock. From then on it’s like any other day of work, but different. They’re just as in sync, just as relaxed but there’s an air of importance around the moment that drives them to sing all the louder.

Raucous applause marks the ending and Bruce feels himself grinning wildly when Thor throws his arm over his shoulder and they hold up their hands.  A quick thank you to the audience and then Thor is pulling him by the hand out the back to the alley they met in.

The second the door closes behind them Bruce’s elation catches up to him. He throws himself at Thor, lips crashing into his, pure joy coursing through him. Thor kisses back just as intense, arms wrapping around him as they spin slightly with the momentum of the sudden collision.

When Bruce comes down slightly he searches Thor’s face, ready to offer up an apology if he’s overstepped. But that is not the case.

“Can I do that again?” Thor’s voice is deep, almost musical despite speaking plainly. It’s the voice Bruce fell in love with first, before he realised there was more of Thor to love than just that.

“Absolutely.”

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaand...thats that. I hope I did the prompt justice.
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr ](https://asgardianbruce.tumblr.com/)


End file.
